WABAC When
by OCGirl94
Summary: Now, a series of one shots about the world's smartest dog and his boy. Some small spoilers. Thanks a ton to Cafcow for letting me use their picture as my cover. :) Disclaimer: I don't own the movie, TV show, or anything like that.
1. Meeting

A/N: Ok, I'm getting really excited for this movie. So, I wanted to do a bit of fanfiction for it. However, as I haven't seen the movie yet, I'm not sure I've got the characters down right. Also, another slight note, both for this chapter and for future reference. I know next to nothing about the law. So, please excuse me if I say something wrong where that subject is concerned. Lol constructive criticism is always welcome. Please enjoy!

* * *

Beginning

It was raining hard that day. But, Mr. Peabody had to go out anyway. Not only was the refrigerator almost empty, he also needed a few small parts for a project that had to be ready to present tomorrow. This was why Peabody found himself walking down the street one blustery afternoon.

He had nearly made it to the store when he thought he heard a slight noise. Of course, there were all kinds of noises all around him, which his canine ears were particularly sensitive to: the rain and thunder, the whoosh of a passing car zooming through puddles, the sounds of chatter and the click of shoes on the pavement. But, this was not any of those things. This was a soft, almost inaudible whimper.

Peabody paused and the sound came again, from his left. Looking that way, at first, he saw only a narrow alley with a soggy cardboard box pushed against one wall.

"Now, what could that have been?" he asked himself.

A moment later, the sound came again and, at the same time, the box shook slightly, looking like it was on the brink of disintegration with all the water it had absorbed. Peabody slowly approached the box and peered inside, shocked to discover a baby lying there, amidst a nest of dirty blankets. Peabody searched the alley once more; but he saw nothing and no one other than the box and its squirming contents.

'Who_ would leave a child out in the rain?'_ Mr. Peabody thought, a spike of anger surging in his chest. '_If they didn't want him they could, at least, have the kindness to take him somewhere safe.'_

The dog had been thinking recently of adopting a boy. He had even done some research on the subject. Adopting a boy, however, was not a task to be rushed into. Mr. Peabody, being the genius that he was, knew this. So, he lifted the child out of the box, intent on taking him to the orphanage.

Mr. Peabody cringed at the single word that came out of the boy's mouth. That was one thing he had decided already. If he was ever to adopt a boy, he did not want to be called by such an undignified name.

Putting those thoughts aside, the dog turned his steps toward the orphanage, tucking the boy against his chest in an attempt to keep him warm.

It wasn't long before Mr. Peabody arrived at the orphanage.

The man who opened the door at his knock did not exactly strike Peabody as the nurturing sort who would be eager to spend his time raising children. He was a big, hulking man whose mouth seemed twisted in a perpetual scowl, until, that was, he caught sight of Mr. Peabody. Then, he tried to smile. The expression merely sent a slight shiver down the dog's spine.

"Why, Mr. Peabody, what brings you here?" the man asked.

Though the two had never been introduced, Mr. Peabody's fame made him easily recognizable, of course.

"Good day, Mister…"

"Ramsdon," the man supplied.

Peabody nodded. "Good day, Mr. Ramsdon. I'm afraid I've brought you a new tenant." Here, he looked down at the baby in his arms. "I found this boy out on the street, all alone. So, I thought it best to bring him here."

Ramsdon's "smile" widened. The look was more feral than kind. Peabody suddenly felt the need to go inside and see that the little boy he held was properly cared for.

"We'll be glad to take care of the little tyke," Ramsdon said, with kindness that was clearly forced.

Peabody looked pointedly up at the sky before asking, "Would you mind if I came in for a minute or two?"

"Oh, no, of course not!" the man answered, though his smile seemed to falter for just a moment. He stepped aside to let the dog enter.

Inside, Ramsdon quickly set about searching for something for the baby to eat, chatting about this and that.

"Terrible weather lately, just terrible." Or, "It's so sad how many children are left orphans these days, many of them simply because the parents aren't prepared for such responsibility." Or, "I've heard so many great things about you, Mr. Peabody. It's certainly an honor to meet you."

Peabody gave only the obligatory answers as he looked around, taking in the dirty furniture, the peeling wallpaper, the leaks in the roof, and the rather dangerous-looking staircase that led up to the second floor. If this man couldn't even take care of his house, how was he to take care of children?

The caretaker soon returned with a bottle in hand; and Mr. Peabody handed the baby over after just the slightest pause. The boy, who had been snuggled happily into the dog's warm fur, blinked his eyes open at the sudden change in temperature and position, looked into the face of the man who now held him…and promptly set up a piercingly loud protest at being handed over to him. The man tried rocking the boy, bouncing him slightly, shushing him. The baby would not even take the bottle he was offered. He simply continued wailing at the top of his little lungs.

When his ears could take it no longer, Mr. Peabody took the child back in his paws, whereupon the boy at once fell silent, instead looking up at the dog with wide brown eyes that seemed to beg him never to let go. Mr. Peabody turned away from the pleading gaze to take the bottle from Ramsdon. The baby now gladly accepted it, his focus thus turning away from the dog.

Not long after though, the baby had drunk his fill. After using the technique he'd learned on the Internet to burp the child, Peabody returned the little bundle to the caretaker. This time, the boy did not even cry, merely looked at the dog with those big, sad eyes one last time. But, Mr. Peabody was firm. He turned and left the orphanage.

He had hardly taken two steps from the door when the baby began bawling anew.

He had hardly made it five steps away when a shout of, "Shut up, ya brat!" echoed from inside the orphanage, followed by the unmistakable sound of something striking something else.

The child's cries doubled in volume and intensity.

Mr. Peabody didn't waste a moment rushing back into the house. What he saw made rage, something he had rarely ever felt, bubble up inside him. The poor little boy was practically dangling in midair as the "caretaker" held him up with one hand. On the baby's side was a bright red, hand-shaped, mark.

Ramsdon immediately pulled the boy back to his chest, plastering a smile on his face once more.

"Mr. Peabody!" he cried. "I thought you were on your way to the shops."

"I was," the dog growled, voice dangerously low. "Are you aware, Mr. Ramsdon," Peabody continued, advancing slowly on the man and taking the boy he held safely into his paws, "that I personally know eight of the current Supreme Court justices, as well as, at least, twelve judges?"

Ramsdon's smile dropped; he looked slightly frightened, despite Peabody's extreme height disadvantage.

"I'm certain every one of them would be willing to put you in prison with evidence like this," the dog went on, looking at the angry welt on the boy's side. "Not to mention the evidence that could no doubt be found throughout this building." Now, the dog looked down at the boy in his arms again, eyes softening. "And I'm certain at least some of them would be willing to help me adopt this boy, as that is exactly what I hope to do."

So saying, Mr. Peabody left the orphanage, the baby still in his grasp, and headed for his penthouse. The shops could wait. He had a number of calls to make.

He knew that he was rushing into things after all, just what he had told himself he would not do; but, it would take a dog more cold-hearted than he to resist the look of adoration the baby gave him with tear-filled eyes.

* * *

A/N: I might continue this. If you want me to, I'd love it if you'd let me know. ;)


	2. Touche!

A/N: I'm skipping into the future here. I'll probably skip around a lot from here on. Anyway, this piece was inspired Grizfolk's "Way Back When". However, I do not own the song, the movie, or any of that. And, yes, I misspelled pretend on purpose.

* * *

Chapter 3

Mr. Peabody gave a soft sigh. He had never in his life done something so undignified. But, all the parenting books he'd read said it was an integral part of childhood and could even be used to teach children important lessons. Not to mention the fact that Sherman was looking at him with those big, brown eyes again; and, despite the fact that he'd never admit it out loud, he had developed a weakness to "The Look" long ago.

"I suppose…" he said at last.

Immediately, Sherman's face split with a smile and the five-year-old began bouncing on his toes in excitement.

"Ok, ok," the boy said, forcing himself to stand still. "So, you gotta pertend you're gonna try to take over the world." Suddenly, the boy's eyes lit up. Mr. Peabody knew he'd had an idea, most likely a dangerous one. "Mr. Peabody, could we use one of your exper-expe- one of your 'spirements for the machine you use to take over the world?"

Mr. Peabody resisted the urge to rub his temples. "No, I don't think so, Sherman."

"Aww," the boy groaned. However, he knew better than to argue. Instead, he paused again, brow furrowing in thought. Then, his head shot up and he said, "I have a better idea."

With that, Sherman darted off to his room and came back a minute later with a pair of toy rapiers in his small hands.

"I can be the Scarlet Pim-pi…"

"Pimpernel," Peabody supplied, chuckling. He had recently been telling Sherman an "edited" version of the old tale set in the French Revolution. Maybe someday, when the boy was older, they'd go see the Revolution… if Sherman _promised_ to stay close.

"Right! And you can be Chau- The bad guy!"

Peabody smiled. Fencing, he could do. Perhaps he could even teach Sherman a little something of the art.

"Sherman, do you remember what I told you fighting with these kinds of swords is called?"

The boy's face scrunched up in thought, an expression at which Peabody laughed to himself. Then, Sherman said, "Oh, yeah! Fencing."

"That's right," Mr. Peabody said, giving Sherman a smile, at which the boy beamed in return. "People still fence today, in friendly competitions. Do you want me to show you a little of how it's done?"

"Yeah!" Sherman said, bouncing on his toes again. "Then, it'll look real when we pertend."

"That's true." Peabody said with another laugh. "Now, before they begin, the…fighters," the dog substituted, trying to use words his boy would understand, "raise their swords, like this."

Peabody lifted his "blade" and waited for Sherman to do the same. When the boy did, the dog went on.

"Then, they cross them." He brought the two plastic swords together between them. "And, they say, 'En garde.'"

"On guard?" Sherman asked.

"That's what the phrase means in English. But, they say it in French. En garde. Do you understand?"

"I…think so," Sherman replied slowly.

"Good. Then, they fight; and, when one person touches the other, like this," Peabody used his sword to poke Sherman lightly in the stomach, making the boy giggle. "the person who touched the other says, 'touché' which is French for 'touch.' The person who 'scored the touch' is the winner. See?"

Sherman considered all this information and then bobbed his head in an affirmative. "I think I got it."

"Alright. Ready?" Peabody raised the little sword again. Sherman mirrored him and their swords crossed.

"En garde!" Sherman shouted with only the slightest pause.

"Very good, Sherman!" Peabody praised, easily parrying the child's somewhat wild attacks. After a minute or two though, the dog stopped defending, letting Sherman poke him in the chest with the toy.

"Touchay!" said the boy, slightly mispronouncing the word.

"Good job, Sherman," Peabody said with another smile. Sherman's answering toothy grin outshone the sun.

"Can we do that again, Mr. Peabody?"

Maybe this "playing pretend" wasn't so bad after all. "I don't see why not."

Peabody thought back to all those parenting books and websites. According to them, Sherman should be wanting to play "superheroes and villains" or something else called "cowboys and Indians." Here he was happily playing "The Scarlet Pimpernel" instead. It was just one more way that Sherman was different from other kids; but, Mr. Peabody wouldn't have had it any other way.

* * *

A/N: I had a lot of fun writing this. I hope you guys enjoyed reading it. Let me know in a review!


	3. Sick as a Dog

Mr. Peabody was working in his study when he heard it, the sound that every parent learns to hate, the sound of their child crying.

The dog immediately left his work and ran to Sherman's room. He had checked on the boy that morning, as he did every morning, and found him still asleep. Since then, there hadn't been a peep from the five-year-old; and, now he thought about it, it was unusual for Sherman to sleep so late.

"Sherman?" Peabody asked, coming into the boy's room and quickly making his way over to the bed.

The boy in question lay curled up in the bed, covers pulled up to a bright red nose, a few tears slipping out of his closed eyes. At the sound of his name, Sherman's eyes sprang open and widened slightly.

"Mr. Peabody," the name was little more than a weak croak. The eyes soon fell shut again, as if in sheer exhaustion. "I'm s-sorry," the boy went on in a near-whisper, swiping a hand across his face. "I just feel so a-" A hard sneeze chose that moment to force it's way out. "Awful," the boy finished miserably.

Mr. Peabody gently lifted his boy, an act for which Sherman was already almost too big, and shifted him slightly, so he could sit on the bed as well. As soon as he had, Sherman shifted back a bit, resting his head in his father's lap.

"Sorry?" the dog asked, nearly cocking his head in confusion as he stroked Sherman's wild hair. "Whatever do you have to be sorry for?"

"Y-you said you were g-gonna be busy today. I di-didn't mean to b-bother you."

Sherman was shivering despite the fact that he was huddled under a mass of blankets. Mr. Peabody could feel the heat of a fever creeping up through his fur as he passed a paw over the boy's forehead. The dog frowned slightly, but filed Sherman's words away for future discussion. Right now, he had something even more important to do.

"So, fever, chills, sore throat, sneezing," Peabody cringed when Sherman used one of his blankets to wipe his nose. "And a runny nose. Is anything else the matter?"

"Everything hurts," the boy complained hoarsely, trying to push his way deeper into his father's fur. "And my stomach feels all swirly."

Peabody sighed; probably the flu then, he surmised. He carefully shifted Sherman again, so the boy was lying back on his pillow, and got to his feet.

"Wait here," he said, somewhat needlessly, as Sherman had no desire whatsoever to move.

A few minutes later, Peabody returned, somehow carrying a bottle of pills, a glass of water, a thermometer, a box of tissues, and a washcloth all at once. Setting all of these things down beside the bed, he quickly took Sherman's temperature. 102, the little device read after beeping softly.

"Here," the dog said, helping Sherman sit up and ajusting his pillows behind him. He then handed over two of the pills and the glass of water. "Take these."

Sherman made a face.

"I know you don't want to," Peabody said before the protest could come. "But, that's a high fever; this will help with both that and the pain."

Reluctantly, Sherman downed the medicine with a little bit of water.

"Now," Peabody said, resuming his place on the edge of Sherman's bed after he had helped the boy lie back down and laid the damp cloth over his forehead. Sherman pressed himself into the dog's side when he did so. "Sherman, look at me."

Sherman slowly pulled away a bit, shifted so that he was facing his father, and looked him in the eye, just as Peabody had told him to do whenever he said to look at him. He knew, too, from the dog's tone, that whatever he was about to say was important.

But, Peabody's eyes softened and he reached over to stroke his boy's hair again as he said, "Sherman, I will never, _never_ be too busy for you. I'll always be willing to hear your stories, or look at something you made, or take care of you when you're sick. I don't want you to ever forget that. Do you understand?"

Sherman was silent for a moment. Then, he beamed up at his father. "Yes," he said, wrapping his arms around the dog's middle in a hug, made somewhat awkward by the fact that he was still lying down.

Peabody smiled as well and passed a paw through Sherman's hair one more time as he got to his feet.

"Try to drink a little bit of water every few minutes." He used one foot to push the room's trash bin to the side of the bed. "If you need to…be sick, try to do so in that. "And, if you need anything, I'll be right down the hall."

But, as Peabody turned to go, "Mr. Peabody?" Sherman asked.

The dog turned back.

Sherman gave a somewhat weak version of _that _smile, the smile that meant he wanted something. "Would you read me a story?"

Mr. Peabody smiled in fond exasperation. Work could wait, he thought to himself.

"Which one do you want to read this time?"


	4. On Thin Ice

Chapter 5: On Thin Ice

A/N: First, I want to point out that I am taking major artistic license with Washington's character, with geography, and with history in general. Second, I wanna say a quick thanks to all my guest reviewers, who I can't message personally. Also, one reviewer pointed out that, apparently, when Mr. Peabody first found Sherman, there was a note on his chest with his name. I've seen the movie twice now and never noticed! Thanks for pointing that out. But, I guess I'll leave my story as is. And finally, I meant to say this a while ago, if you review my stories, please don't swear, even if you mean it in a good way. I love reviews; but, I'm a Christian. So, swearing kind of ruins them for me. With that said, on with the show!

* * *

"Where are we going today, Mr. Peabody?" Sherman asked as the pair walked into the room where the WABAC was kept.

"Christmas Eve, 1776, at the Delaware River. We're going to see the Battle of Trenton," was Peabody's reply.

"Cool!" Sherman said as they stepped inside the time machine.

"Yes, cool indeed, which is why, when we get there, you need to put on the heavy coat I got you."

Sherman, as usual, didn't get the joke. Instead, he said, "But, Mr. Peabody, that coat makes me look silly!"

"Nevertheless, you'll wear it; unless you'd rather stay home?"

"No, no!" Sherman cried. "I'll wear it!"

"Good," Peabody said with a nod. The dog then set the controls, pushed the button, and they were off.

Soon, the duo arrived in 1776. Whereas, in the present, it had been around noon, here it was already night.

Sherman did indeed look a bit silly when he emerged from the time ship in a very thick, bright red coat. Even Mr. Peabody was wearing a parka; but, Sherman's coat was so big that the boy had a bit of a hard time walking with it. Sherman had wondered, on the day they bought the coat, if he wouldn't stick out in such a bright color; and stick out he did, once the WABAC had faded out of sight, as the two were surrounded by little other than a blanket of white, bordered on their right by the grey ribbon of the Delaware. Mr. Peabody, however, had said that this was the point; in such a color, one could hardly lose the boy, even in a blizzard.

So, the pair set off, following the Delaware, while the snow swirled quietly around them.

"How far will we have to go?" Sherman asked a short time later, as he struggled along in his coat.

"Not far," Peabody answered. As if to prove the dog's point, when they came to the top of the slight rise they had been climbing, Washington's small army came into sight.

In a few minutes, the two arrived at the edge of the camp and were taken to see Washington.

"Peabody!" the man exclaimed when he saw the dog. He came forward and shook Peabody's paw with a smile. "And this must be Sherman," he went on. Sherman grinned up at the commander. "You've grown quite a bit since I saw you last." Growing more serious, the man went on, "But, I'm afraid you've come at a hard time, Peabody. It looks as if we shall soon be forced to surrender to the British."

"But, you can't!" Sherman interjected.

"I see little other choice, my boy," Washington said, smiling sadly.

"Mr. Peabody," Sherman whispered, "he can't surrender. We've got to do something!"

"And so we will, Sherman. Don't worry," was Peabody's calm reply. To Washington, the dog said, "If I could speak to you for a few minutes, sir…"

XxX

"It's an excellent plan," the commander-in-chief was saying some minutes later. "But, the weather isn't quite suited to it."

"Give it time," Peabody said with a smile.

So it was that, at about a quarter to midnight, Washington's men were boarding a few small fishing boats amidst a fierce blizzard, preparing to cross the icy Delaware.

"We're going with them, right, Mr. Peabody?" Sherman nearly had to shout to be heard over the gale, despite the fact that he stood right next to his father.

"Yes, Sherman," Peabody said. "But, you must promise to be careful."

"I promise!" Sherman answered, already clambering aboard the boat in which Washington sat.

Peabody followed his boy, even as an odd sense of fear made the fur on the back of his neck stand up.

XxX

The dog was extremely vigilant throughout almost the whole ride. It was just at _one_ point, when Washington asked him about tactics in the coming battle, that he was slightly distracted.

Peabody's eyes were pulled back to his boy when Sherman said, in a voice as quiet as the storm (and his excitement) would permit, "Look, Mr. Peabody! I think we're almost there!"

Peabody's eyes flashed away from Washington and toward the front of the boat, to find Sherman hanging halfway out over the bow.

"Sherman!" the dog outright shouted in surprise and fear. "Get away from there!"

Sherman twisted around with a look of confusion, but otherwise didn't move. "What's the matter, Mr. Peabody?"

"Sherman," the dog began firmly, "get-"

But, Mr. Peabody never got to finish that sentence. For, at that instant, the boat bumped into a hunk of ice. As for those who were seated, this did little more than rock them about a bit. But, Sherman, standing at the front of the boat, and being somewhat clumsy as he was, swayed dangerously, and then tumbled into the river.

"Sherman!" Peabody shouted, springing to his feet. Around him, the boat's passengers went into a flurry of action; but, the dog hardly noticed.

A moment later, the familiar red mop broke the surface, being pulled downstream among a crowd of ice. Had it not been for his red hair, he might have been lost in the blinding white.

Sherman had learned to swim long ago; but, the freezing water was such a shock, and he was so afraid, that the poor boy hardly remembered what to do. Instead, he shouted, trying to get the water out of his mouth at the same time, "Mr. Peabody! Help!"

"I'm coming, Sherman!" the dog shouted back. "Try to hold onto a piece of the ice!"

Peabody looked all around him desperately. Rope, that was what he needed. He spotted a coil of rope toward the front of the boat and lunged for it. But, he knew the effects hypothermia could have on people, and loss of motor skills was among them. Chances were, Sherman would not be able to grab and keep hold of the rope. So, instead of throwing the lasso he formed toward his boy, Peabody aimed for a large ice floe floating close to Sherman that was mostly flat with a spike jutting up at one end. With one end of the rope tightened securely around the spike, and the other left in the hands of the soldiers, Peabody began inching his way along the rope toward Sherman.

Sherman, meanwhile, was growing tired. He had done as Mr. Peabody told him, trying to hold onto one of the floes that drifted all around him. But, he was already so tired; and his coat was so heavy; and it was hard to breath. He just wanted to let go…

As if he could read his boy's thoughts, Peabody shouted, "Don't let go, Sherman. Take deep breaths. I know it's hard; just hold on a little longer."

Sherman shook his head to clear it, tightened his hold on his little bit of ice, and focused, squinting through stinging snow, on his father a short distance away. After what felt to the boy like ages, Peabody jumped down to the ice floe his rope was attached to and made his way, as quickly as he dared, toward Sherman.

Soon, the dog had pulled his boy to safety on the ice floe to which the rope was tied. For a moment, he wanted to collapse from sheer relief. But then, his brain reminded him that they were far from out of the woods. Sherman was shaking like a leaf, his lips turned blue with cold. They needed to get back to the boat. They needed to get to shore. And, they needed to do it fast.

"Heave!" The cry broke through Peabody's racing thoughts. "Heave!"

Washington and his men were pulling their boat toward the pair, straight through a minefield of ice.

The boat was rocked and jostled madly, but, thankfully, not crushed or even badly damaged by the ice. Soon, Mr. Peabody and Sherman were being lifted back aboard.

Not long after, the boats made it to the opposite shore. Somehow, the opposing troops hadn't been disturbed by all the ruckus; and history played out as it was meant to. Meanwhile, the dog and his boy sat on the sidelines, huddled together, next to a small fire, under a few blankets, trying to share body heat.

They were mostly silent during all that time. Only when they were safely home and Sherman was beginning to return to normal, with only the occasional shiver or sneeze to tell of his harrowing experience, did the boy risk a glance up at the dog who sat next to him on the couch, and say, "I'm sorry, Mr. Peabody."

"Yes, well, you'd better be!" Peabody answered, with more force than he really meant to.

Sherman looked back down at the blankets piled on top of him and began picking at a loose thread on one of them.

"I'm sorry," the dog said after a moment. "I didn't mean to shout. But, you scared me half to death, Sherman. And after you promised to be careful!"

"I know," Sherman mumbled, seeming to try and shrink into the nest of blankets.

"Just be _more_ careful next time."

Sherman couldn't help the smile that bloomed on his face. He was just glad there would _be_ a next time. After all, it wasn't like this was the first time he'd gotten into trouble on one of their adventures. There was that incident with the tower of Pisa… And that time with the city of Atlantis, and… Well, the point was, it wasn't the first mistake he'd made; and it wasn't likely to be the last.

After a short silence, Sherman dared to say what he was thinking. "Still," His grin widened a bit, "the way you lassoed that chunk of ice and came all the way out there _and_ pulled me out of the water was…pretty fantastic!"

Mr. Peabody tried to look stern and severe. But, eventually, his lips curved upward and he said, in a teasing tone, "You'd better watch it. You're on thin ice!"

Laughter filled the penthouse.

"I don't get it."

* * *

A/N: I'm...partially sorry for the bad joke. It was the best I could come up with! But, that's how I wrote it. And, I like it that way. Hope you guys enjoyed it, too!


	5. Jealousy

A/N: Thanks again to all my guest reviewers. Thanks to the people who have faved and followed me and my story as well. And thanks to anyone whose just read the story! :)

I know this is super short; but, I couldn't resist writing it.

* * *

They were at the park, a place they still visited often enough, despite having access to every untouched field of the past. For, just as Mr. Peabody knew it was important for Sherman to have father/son time in whatever era and place they chose with the WABAC, so he knew it was important for the boy to spend time with other children his age.

So, while Sherman played, Mr. Peabody sat on a park bench, reading. Of course, every few minutes, he would glance up to make sure Sherman wasn't wandering off or getting into mischief.

It was on one such occasion that Peabody glanced up to find his boy happily playing…with a cat.

Now, Mr. Peabody might have been a dog, but, he would never stoop so low as to chase a cat. Nevertheless, when he got an odd feeling in his chest, he passed it off as instinct, that desire to chase that seems inherent in dogs.

And, just as he wasn't the type to chase cats, so he wasn't the type to become jealous. Maybe, long ago, during his days at the pound, when he saw other dogs being taken to new homes, while he was left behind, he might have felt a twinge of jealously. But, not so anymore. Neither had he ever been the sort to horde things, to want to keep them to himself. Wealth, scientific discoveries, historical finds he made using the WABAC. He shared them all with the world. No, Mr. Peabody certainly wasn't the jealous type.

They _had_ been here close on two hours, however, he reasoned, glancing at his watch. The day was getting on. Perhaps it was time they went home and had supper. With these thoughts, Mr. Peabody marked his page, closed his book, and hopped off the bench he'd been sitting on. He walked over to Sherman with perfect equanimity, his book in one paw and the other tucked behind his back.

The cat saw him coming and darted off.

"Come along, Sherman," the dog said. "It's time to go."

"Ok, Mr. Peabody," the boy acquiesced easily, as he was, indeed, getting rather hungry.

So, the two turned toward Peabody's scooter. And, if Mr. Peabody let a tiny smirk creep onto his lips as they went, well, no one need ever know.


	6. A Day at the Office

A/N: This one was inspired by this post on Tumblr. post/81898541789/peabody-industries

* * *

Sherman, Mason, and Carl sat in the red-head's room, playing with his abundance of toys. It was Saturday and Sherman's friends had arrived at the penthouse a short time before.

When they had first come into Sherman's room, the two visitors had gawked at the place. Not only was it almost twice as big as their rooms, but, it was filled with toys.

Once they had picked through the mess, they had begun playing with a set of toy dinosaurs. And that is how Mr. Peabody found them when he came in.

"Sherman, I'm afraid something important has come up," the dog said. "You and your friends will have to come down to the office with me for a little while."

"Okay, Mr. Peabody."

The dog smiled, having half expected Sherman to protest. As much as he knew the boy liked visiting the people who worked just below their penthouse, Peabody himself had been slightly irritated that they couldn't have this one day, peaceful and work-free.

"We'll leave in just a minute or two," Peabody continued. "If you want to bring a few toys, you may; but, find them quickly and don't leave them lying around downstairs."

Sherman nodded. Peabody turned and left.

As soon as he was gone, Mason groaned slightly. "I was hoping we could play video games. I don't really want to spend Saturday in an office."

"Don't worry," Sherman replied. "The people who work for Mr. Peabody are the best. And we can find something else to do."

XxX

When the four walked into the lobby of Peabody Industries, Mason and Carl were, once again, awestruck. This room alone was enormous, filled with comfy-looking chairs and sofas, light streaming in through floor to ceiling windows; and, at the front of it all was a long, marble-topped counter, behind which sat the receptionist.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Peabody," the woman said as the group entered.

"Good afternoon, Ms. Hastings," the dog replied with a smile. A look which faded slightly as he continued. "I hear there's been some trouble upstairs?"

The young woman smiled encouragingly. "Nothing you can't handle, I'm sure."

The dog's smile brightened a bit. "Thank you." Turning to Sherman, he added, "I'll be up on the fifth floor. You know the rules. Anything behind closed doors is off limits; don't be too loud; and do not leave the building."

"Yes, Mr. Peabody."

With that the dog headed for the elevator.

"Who are your friends, Sherman?" Ms. Hastings asked when the dog was gone.

"This is Carl," Sherman said, gesturing to the boy to his right, who was looking, somewhat shyly, up at Ms. Hasting from his wheelchair. "And this," the red-head said, gesturing to the boy standing at his left, "is Mason."

"Well, it's very nice to meet both of you," Ms. Hastings said. With a mischievous smile, she asked, "Would you three like some of my stash?"

Mason and Carl just looked confused; but, Sherman grinned. "Yes, please!"

The young woman laughed and ducked below the counter, so that only the chestnut-colored bun that sat atop her head was visible. A moment later, she sat back up, holding out two small handfuls of candy. "For you," she said, placing the treats in a pile on the counter.

Mason and Carl's eyes lit up.

"Thank you," the three boys chorused.

"I told you they're the best," Sherman said, already stuffing a few pieces of the candy in his mouth.

XxX

After Sherman had introduced his friends to quite a few of the staff at Peabody Industries (and the trio had received enough treats to thoroughly ruin their dinner) they found themselves on the second floor, a place filled mostly with office cubicles, and began debating what to do.

"We could play tag," Mason suggested.

"No, that'd probably be too loud," Sherman argued. "We don't wanna disturb everybody. What's a quieter game?" He thought for a moment. "What about hide-and-seek?"

"Ok," Mason and Carl agreed.

"Ok," Sherman said, "the rules are: you can't leave this floor. Remember, closed doors means off limits. And the person who's it has to count to…fifty. So we have plenty of time to find a hiding spot."

Again, the other two boys agreed. They played 'eeny meeny miney mo' to decide who would be 'it.' And the game began.

XxX

Some time later, Mr. Peabody came to the second floor in search of the three boys.

The dog poked his head into one of the office cubicles and asked the man who sat at his desk inside, "Mr. Adams, have you, by any chance, seen Sherman and his two friends?"

The man in question grinned, chuckling softly, and pointed under his desk.

Confused, Peabody bent down and peered under the desk. There, huddled in the corner, was Sherman, grinning up at his father.

"Sherman, what on Earth are you doing down there?" the dog asked.

"We're playing hide-and-seek," Sherman answered in a whisper.

A smile slowly pulled Peabody's lips up. "Well, we can go home now," he said, now almost whispering as well. "So, shall we go find the others?"

"Ok," Sherman replied, crawling out from under the desk. He gave Mr. Adams a toothy grin. "Thank you for letting me hide under your desk."

The man laughed, ruffling Sherman's bright hair. "You're welcome, Sherman."

XxX

That evening, when Carl's and Mason's parents came to pick them up, they couldn't help but laugh when Mason said, "Thank you for having me. Sherman, we should play in your dad's office next time we come over!"


	7. Blood

Sherman probably wouldn't remember that day, thank goodness. He was still young when it happened.

They had been headed to the park. Sherman, not content to ride there in his carrier, had begun whining. So, Mr. Peabody had lifted him out, placed his feet firmly on the sidewalk, and taken his hand. They had walked along easily enough, Sherman only stumbling once or twice, until they came to a crosswalk.

It was while they were waiting for the light to change that it happened.

A short ways away, a woman stood, a small dog sitting beside her.

Given his family, Sherman had a great love for dogs. The boy managed to wiggle his small hand free of Peabody's paw and began waddling toward the other dog.

Peabody whipped around the instant he felt his son's hand slip from his own.

"Sherman!" he cried, trying to snatch the child's hand up once more.

But, Sherman had already made his wobbly way to the other dog. The woman who held the dog's leash didn't even notice until it was too late.

Peabody, meanwhile, knew what was coming. The other dog's body was shaking, tensing up. It was trying to back away from the unsuspecting toddler. All of these things told Peabody what was likely to happen next. He ran to stop it, but, didn't get there in time.

Oblivious, young Sherman reached out a hand to pet the dog. And received a set of small, but, sharp teeth puncturing his skin for his trouble.

Peabody could smell the blood. And, though he knew his boy was in no real danger from such a small dog, the scent made his stomach turn and a growl began to rise in his throat before he pushed it down.

As is often true with children, in the first few seconds after he was bitten, Sherman simply stared, confused, not fully registering the fact that he had been hurt.

In that time, Peabody swept in and scooped his son up.

Then, the trance was broken and Sherman began to wail.

Almost at the same second, the small crowd that had been waiting at the crosswalk burst into action and noise as well.

However, it was a short while before any voice, other than Sherman's, broke into Peabody's thoughts. The dog checked the small puncture marks on Sherman's hand. Only a few drops of blood leaked from them. He then focused on trying to calm his frightened boy.

"…so, so sorry," a voice broke in on Peabody's thoughts. Forcing himself to focus on the speaker, Peabody realized it was the woman who held the dog's leash. "He…he doesn't like new people. And, I wasn't paying attention. I'm so sorry," the distraught-looking lady rambled.

Peabody gave her the best smile he could muster and shook his head. "The fault was mine. I let Sherman slip away."

"Still," the woman protested, "I should have been paying closer attention." She bent down and picked the little dog up. "He's…he's had all his shots of course." She wrung her free hand. "Oh, I just feel terrible. I'm so sorry."

"It's quite alright," Peabody said, trying both to console the woman and calm his boy. "I'm sure Sherman will be fine. No real harm done."

Peabody would later come to find those last words weren't as true as he'd thought.

XxX

The two returned home. And, having retrieved a first-aid kit, Peabody seated his boy on the couch and proceeded to clean and bandage the small wounds.

"There, all done," the dog said as he finished the task. He looked up at his boy with a smile, a smile that showed his teeth.

For Peabody, the next few seconds passed in slow motion, and yet went by faster than was physically possible. As his eyes met Sherman's, he could see the gears turning behind those bright orbs. He could see his boy putting the pieces together, taking his earlier experience and what he now saw, and adding them together to come to a conclusion that made the dog feel sick.

But, not as sick as the look of fear that came into Sherman's eyes a moment later made him feel.

Sherman pushed himself away from his father, until his back was pressed into a corner of the sofa.

Peabody, meanwhile, took a step back, as the implications of what he saw struck him, harder than any physical blow ever could.

The dog's mind began to race. What was he to do? What _could_ he do? How could he explain, to a boy who couldn't yet fully understand him, that he would never, could never, do what this other dog had done?

"Sherman," he said softly, "you know me. I'm not like other dogs. I've never been one for violence." Sherman seemed almost to be hanging on his words, confusion mixing with the fear in his gaze. So, Peabody dared to inch a little closer, as he went on talking in an attempt to keep Sherman from noticing. "I've always preferred reason to physical confrontations." He inched forward again. "Of course, in a tight spot, I'm capable of several forms of self-defense. But, I would never…" The dog paused. Green eyes locked with brown, trying to convey what words could not. The beagle lifted a tentative paw, letting it hover near his boy's forehead. "Sherman," Peabody went on in a near whisper, "I would never purposely hurt you, physically or otherwise. I…"

_Love you_. The words were on the tip of his tongue. But, they wouldn't come out. Instead, silence hung in the air. Until, slowly, Sherman leaned his head again his father's paw.

A broad smile bloomed on Peabody's face (though, this time, he didn't dare let his teeth show) as he gently ruffled Sherman's hair.

The dog knew that Sherman's fear was likely far from conquered. But, he would face this obstacle just as he had all those that stood in his way when he was working to adopt Sherman. Because, though they weren't family by blood, they were family nonetheless.

* * *

A/N: I'm not exactly sure I like this. The ending especially seems kinda cliche. Hope you guys like it anyway.


	8. Allergies

A/N: Ok, so, here's a little short thing I did for a prompt on Tumblr. But first, I just wanted to say thanks again to everybody who's read, reviewed, favorited, and followed this story. You guys make my day!

Also, I want to let everybody know: I'm working on a multi-chapter mpas fic! But, I really want this to be good. So, I'm not sure when it'll go up. The idea for the multi-chapter fic isn't mine. It comes from tumblr too. I'll put up a link to the post the idea comes from in the actual story. But, until then, I hope you guys enjoy this little thing.

* * *

"Mr. Peabody! Could we go to Penny's house today? Her parents said it's ok!"

Sherman flew into the room as he spoke and stood, bouncing slightly on his toes, waiting for an answer.

Peabody gave an internal sigh. It wasn't that he didn't like the Petersons. Quite the opposite, in fact. Paul and Patty were excellent company.

It was just that, recently, the family had acquired a kitten.

Now, Peabody had conquered any instinctual desire to chase cats long ago. But, there was another problem. Something he preferred to remain a secret.

Nevertheless, he wouldn't let his pride get in the way of his son having a good time with his friend. He smiled and said, "I don't see why not."

XxX

So, later that afternoon, the dog and his boy found themselves at the front door of the Peterson home.

Patty answered at Sherman's eager knock.

"Peabody, Sherman, I'm so glad you could come!" she said brightly. "Come on in!"

Peabody could smell it as soon as he walked in, the distinct odor of a cat. Almost immediately, his nose began to itch.

But, he put on his best smile, greeted the woman, and the trio headed inside.

XxX

They had been here for about an hour and a half now; and Peabody's nose was itching like mad.

To his sensitive snout, the smell of the little kitten was everywhere. He could spot its short hairs on the couch.

And then, it sashayed into the room and, a minute later, began rubbing its little body against his feet, seeming totally oblivious to the fact that he was its most feared enemy, a dog.

As if in answer, Peabody's eyes began to water. He hurriedly swiped away the tears and said nothing, working to focus on the conversation, rather than the little ball of fur rubbing his own fur back and forth.

"Don't you think so, Peabody?" Paul's question suddenly broke in on the dog's thoughts.

Peabody forced himself to turn his attention to his host, an embarrassed look on his face.

"I'm sorry, Paul. What was the question?" Even to his own ears, the dog's voice sounded slightly wrong, like he suddenly had a cold.

Paul didn't answer, instead studying his companion's face. "Is something wrong, Peabody?" he asked. "You…don't look so good."

"Paul," Patty scolded gently; then she looked at their guest as well and saw his eyes tearing again. "Are you alright, Peabody?" she couldn't help asking.

"I'm…" Fine, is what Peabody would have said, if his nose hadn't chosen that moment to itch so badly that he couldn't stop the sneeze that build in it.

The sound was so loud that Sherman and Penny, who had been playing in Penny's room, came running into the living room to see what was going on.

Patty kindly offered the dog a box of tissues, which he took with a grateful, if somewhat embarrassed smile.

All eyes were now on Mr. Peabody. The dog himself was wishing he were anywhere but there.

Sherman broke the silence, studying his dad's slightly red, watery eyes in concern. "Mr. Peabody, are you okay?" the boy asked.

"I'm fine, Sherman," the dog replied, nose sounding even stuffier than before. "Go play." He gave the boy his best smile.

Sherman looked uncertain. "Ok," he said slowly. With that, he turned to go, Penny leading the way back to her room.

Paul, meanwhile, had spent the past few moments looking thoughtfully at Peabody, a slow smile spreading across his face. Once Sherman was gone, he asked, "You're allergic to cats, aren't you?"

Peabody's blush was answer enough.


End file.
